


Hips Don't Lie

by TehChou



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Glitter!Charles, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehChou/pseuds/TehChou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So in the 21st century Charles is kind of a hooker, definitely a stripper and Erik is looking for mutants to expand his growing empire.</p><p>Written for kink bingo square 'Service'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hips Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to take the blame for this.
> 
> Though it's beta'd clumsily by me so all typoes and missed words and general ridiculousness is my own damn fault.
> 
> EDIT: TY TRO, AGAIN

Erik smiles ruefully at the desk clerk when he checks in. Emma'd called ahead and made the appointment to book the right person, her being the only one who knew exactly what their newest recruit looked like.

Of course, she didn't tell him until he got there that it was a male strip club, one that happened to cater to slightly more. . . illegal takes on the idea as long as you knew the right people. Of course, neither he nor Emma knew the right people. Sometimes having a telepath around was incredibly useful, though sometimes it really, really wasn't.

Like when she dumps him off at the entrance to the club, smirking in what he thinks is a decidedly unattractive manner. He doesn't think he's imagining it when the curve of her lips goes a little sharper.

“Have fun, Erik,” she says from the driver's seat. “I booked you the special for an hour and there's a hotel three blocks from here when the two of you are finished. Do try to have some fun.”

And then she'd peeled off, tires throwing up smoke, the hot red Cadillac she'd insisted on them buying fading from his view, her laughter echoing in his mind.

Damn her, anyways. He'd never meant to tell her he perhaps preferred more. . . masculine company. He hadn't done anything at all to deserve this, except apparently to befriend _her,_ the meddling bitch.

So here he is, sitting awkwardly on the bed, drumming his fingers against his knees and trying hard to think only of what the coming conversation will be like. He tries to imagine what powers his recruit might have and how he'll twist the situation to suit whatever he discovers, runs through his spiel.

Charles, the receptionist had said his name was. Something that was almost too posh to be real. Erik imagines some haughty looking, slightly older man with thick glasses and a disdainful expression. A classic librarian kink, someone who gets paid a whole lot of money to call people 'disdainful' and 'disturbing' and whole lot of other 'dis' words.

He shakes his head and sighs, rubbing his fingertips ruefully over his forehead. These thoughts are completely unhelpful, completely irrelevant to the situation at hand, no matter what Emma might think on the matter.

He hears the click of the door, feels the knob turning in his mental picture of the room, the one based on the precise locations of ever piece of metal in the room. He sits up straighter.

And then there’s a man walking through the door and everything Erik's thinking scatters to the wind.

He's. . . erotic. There's no other word for it. No glasses, not even the slightest hint of up-tightness about him. He's wearing a slinky looking silk top, thin and hanging off his frame. There's a dusting of golden glitter across his skin and his pants- god they're so tight they have to be hurting him. Someone must have painted them on to get them to mold to his thighs like that. Erik can't imagine how strangling they must feel. He's got curly, jet black hair slicked with what must be sweat and gel, curling around his ears. The tip of one ringlet is resting against the red, red flesh of his lips.

 _Is he wearing lip gloss?_ Erik can't help but thinking, a little dizzily. He's almost embarrassed at how quickly he's aroused, no, scratch that, he _is_ embarrassed. Erik takes a deep, steadying breath and sits up a little straighter (when had he started to slouch?) and attempts to gather his thoughts.

Charles lets the top slither off him, the fabric shushes against his skin, the slick shiny plastic of his pants.

Erik's throat goes so dry he almost chokes on it. Charles seems to notice it because he looks down, lashes a luscious black line sweeping against the flesh of his cheek and there's just a hint of a smile peeking out from under the downward tilt of his head. Erik's cock is already uncomfortably hard in his pants. He shifts, but it's not much of a relief.

Charles takes a hold of the pole in the middle of the room with one hand, kicks his leg up and around it and Erik suddenly remembers the music that's pulsing through the room, flowing over his skin in waves. He shivers, fists clenching on his thighs and how flexible is this guy(stripper stripper stripper stripper his mind yells in waves); he kicks his leg up over his head, stretching like a cat, tilting his head back, mouth still hanging open obscenely. He spins a slow, almost lazy turn around the pole, the metal nestled in the crook of his knee and Erik can suddenly feel how it warms it. His hands clench and unclench reflexively on his thighs. Charles looks at him, then, blinking wide and there's a trace of something, a hint of confusion and then he turns his back to him abruptly. He shakes his ass, tick-tock tick-tock side to side, sliding down the length of the pole until he's almost sitting on the floor, squatting. Erik can see the bulge of the muscles in his calves, wrapped up tight in those pants and Erik is suddenly hit by how hard he wants them _off_ , wants to see if he's as creamy white on those legs, _on his ass_ , as he is everywhere else.

Charles takes his time moving back up the pole and he spins around, again, rubbing himself against it and then his thumbs are sliding under the elastic waist band of his pants, hips still swaying hypnotically. It's almost like those hips are doing the brunt of the work when he slides them down and off, hands simply there to facilitate the movement, ass pointing straight up in the air until he can step out of them. He leaves them where they are, now clad only in a pair of tight black briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. He leans back, practically caressing the pole with his bent arms and as the music reaches a crescendo his legs snap out to either side, the muscles in his thighs tensing and shaking with the suddenness of the movement.

“Well,” he says and his voice deeper than Erik expected, laced through, _strong_ with Europe and the sound of it goes straight to Erik's dick. He clears his throat. Charles' hips undulate, practically fucking the air.

“Right,” he agrees and realizes those are the first words they've spoken to each other. “Charles, isn't it?” He adds, and if it's a little inane, it's also a lot steadier then he feels and he's counting it a win.

“That's right,” he says, Charles says, (Charles-the-Prostitute his brain keeps supplying) and smiles beatifically at him, straightening, and his are hips swaying, swinging, hypnotically, like a pendulum as he makes his way across the room. His slender hands run down his own body and his eyes closed, lips parting in the apparent pleasure of it. Erik scrubs a hand over the lower half of his face, eyes wide and unblinking. “And who might you be?”

“Erik,” he answers on a whoosh of breath, barely louder then a whisper and Charles is right there, hands resting on either side of him where he's sitting on the bed. This close his eyes are almost startling in their intensity.

“Well then, Erik, I think it's time we maybe we get a little better acquainted, don't you think?”

And instead of saying no, instead of saying _wait_ , instead of saying that's not what I'm here for god dammit he's saying “Oh God yes,” and Charles is sliding into his lap forcing Erik to unclench his hands from his thighs. He braces them behind himself, instead so when Charles slides his arms around his neck they don't quite fall back into the bed. Yet.

“Hi,” he says and Erik makes a noise which is not a whimper and he'd never tell anyone even if it was.

"Uh, hello,” he answers, intelligently and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, sees Charles' eyes flicker down to watch it. He licks his lips and he's definitely wearing lip gloss; the light is glinting off the thick pout of flesh it's slathered over.

“This isn't what I came here for, you know.”

“Oh no one ever does,” Charles says, sounding amused as he leans forward to bury his head in Erik's neck. The mop of his hair brushes against thin skin, tickling. Erik nearly tears the sheets fisting them in his hands. Charles' laugh slides like candy over his ear.

“You can touch you know,” he says and Erik closes his eyes and bites back a groan. Charles grinds down on his lap, the soft cotton of his underwear catching on Erik's zipper. Erik heaves under him, breath coming in short pants. Charles arches against him, grabs the back of Erik's head with one hand, gliding through his hair. His back's a graceful swoop that Erik can't _see_ and he can't help that he gives in and touches it, featherlight and gliding over the sweat-slick skin of his spine.

“Mm,” Charles says, hand still stroking his head almost compulsively. “I love your hair,” and he leans over and smells him, still grinding against Erik and oh God he's going to-

Charles rolls off him abruptly, abandons him to lay sprawled out on the bed. Erik blinks, vision swimming. He looks over and Charles is still grinning at him, one arm tossed high over his head, the other resting against the slightly furred skin of his belly. The pale stretch of him curves like spilled milk over the ridiculous red of the sheets.

“Well, come on, then,” he says and oh he is _wicked_. Erik is hit by it and he can't help but lean over himself, catching his head in his hand and shaking a little with silent, breathless, just off from being hysterical laughter. When he peeks out from his fingers to look at Charles both of his eyebrows have shot up, but he's still smiling that wicked grin. It almost sets Erik off, again, but he reigns himself in just enough that he only smiles back, instead. He thinks, pathetically it might be just as devilish as Charles'.

“And what, pray tell” he asks, eyes bright like they're sharing the joke, “is so funny?” Erik snorts.

“I have business with you, you know,” he answers, dryly and regrets it almost instantly when Charles starts to squirm on the bed, eyes opening impossibly wider.

“And I'm getting tired of waiting to get down to it,” he says and bites his lip. Erik stares at him.

“You're an imp,” he says, _oh god maybe he really is an imp, what if that's his mutation?_ And Charles blinks at him, brows suddenly furrowing, lips twisting just slightly into a frown. It's an endearing expression and Erik can't help it when he leans in and takes a kiss from him, gives in and tastes those alluring lips. Charles responds immediately, turns it from almost chase into something _hungrier_ and Erik is moaning now, the sound caught between their mouths. He _needs_ to be touched, is almost tingling with it and one of Charles' hands sneaks between his thighs, unzipping him and there's a shushed whisper in his mind, gossamer light _just lay back and enjoy it_ and it takes Erik a moment, the taste of his tongue so deliciously distracting, but eventually one and one becomes two and he stiffens in surprise, drawing back, palms resting nearly tangled in his hair on either side of his head.

“Oh,” he says and Charles blinks up at him innocently. “You're a telepath.”

“And you've nearly broken the bed,” he answers serenely. Erik looks up in shock and indeed, the headboard is dripping, melting like wax onto the floor. “And my pole,” Charles adds and over his shoulder Erik sees something similar, fat droplets glinting silver on the floor. Erik grimaces and goes to apologize but Charles shrugs under him.

“It's alright, it wasn't my favorite pole, anyways,” and Erik is startled into laughter, again. Charles leans up while he's distracted and nips at the side of his jaw, just a hint of teeth brushing against the skin and Erik jumps a little in surprise. _Just so you know, I've already decided to say yes to your proposal. It sounds wonderful, and I've already been doing extensive research on the mutant genome at Harvard. Having a wider sample size to choose from would be highly useful._ And while Erik blinks down at him, flabbergasted, Charles reaches up and trails one slender pale finger down over his sternum. _But you've paid for your hour,._ Erik, and suddenly there's a rush of arousal flooding him, shocking in its intensity as it spreads out through every limb and making his toes curl. He can't help but gasp and Charles runs his tongue over his teeth.

 _Please?_ And goddamn him, he even flutters his eyelashes a little, bright eyes flashing with that imp-ish amusement even while they're flooded dark with arousal.

“Shit,” Erik says, intelligently and leans down. Charles surges up to meet him, tugging at Erik's clothes.

 _Off, off, clothes offoffoff,_ and god that's strange to have him in his head and he'd be embarrassed, but Charles seems to be just as lost in the whole thing as Erik is and he finds he can't bring himself to care.

When he rips off his shirt the cool air on his skin is a relief, drying his sweat to his skin, sticky and just a touch musky. Charles almost immediately latches onto one of his nipples and Erik fists his hand in his hair, finally _finally_ allowing himself the ease of touch, to really _feel_ Charles. He's hooking his hands in Erik's pants, fumbling at his belt and Erik bats him away, pants, “let me, let me,” and then it's unfurling from around his waist, belt sliding through the air. It hits the carpeted flooring with a muffled thump, immediately forgotten as Erik's pants follow it, pealing them off, shifting first one leg then the other until he's free. The long line of his cock is hot and aching between his legs, straining up towards his belly.

He feels a sense of liberation jolt through him, at being able to use his power in so intimate a setting and not have his partner be _afraid_. Charles is watching him like it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen. He stretches a hand out to touch the fluttering fabric as it floats past his face.

“Brilliant,” he breathes as he watches it join the belt of the floor. Erik grins at him, shark-like, all teeth and cups a hand over his face, leaning in to plunder his mouth, bites at his swollen lips, swipes a tongue inside him until he's sure he's tasted every bit inside his wet heat.

He comes back up for a moment when he feels the pressing need to breath, their kiss so intense and deep that they've smashed their noses against each other faces until they're mutually suffocating.

He wipes a hand across his mouth, not to chase away the taste of him, but just to give himself a moment, to pull back just a little and he notices something glint in his hands. He realizes they're coated in the glitter, the golden stuff that Charles has smeared himself in and he laughs, shows it to him.

“I'm going to be finding this stuff on my clothes for weeks, aren't I,” he asks, dryly and Charles grins back, hand fisted in his own hair.

“I can never seem to be rid of it, myself,” and he winks, the comma of his eye lashes swooping down and up in the most mesmerizing way. Erik coughs to clear his tight throat.

“So, uh, condoms,” he asks archly, and Charles is shaking his head.

“Not unless you want them, I know you're clean,” and Erik almost immediately feels a bit of an ass but Charles just laughs, deep in his throat in a way that goes straight to his dick, just like everything else that's happened tonight. He stretches himself out, flowing out from under him, creamy skin going on and on as he tugs open the drawer beside the bed.

He pulls back, wiggling down the bed to where Erik can really get an eye full, seated crouched just inside the edge. He braces himself, one arm behind him, knees split wide like he's back on the pole, head thrown back as he slowly, so slowly rolls the condom down over his cock, the head of it staining the semi-translucent latex a flushed pale pink. Erik feels his mouth flood with wet, actually starts to almost drool and it would be pathetic if he wasn't so painfully turned on.He sighs when he finally, finally reaches the end of the roll, pumps himself once, twice, lazily. He runs his free hand up his chest, slides up over his throat, sucks one finger past his own lips, veritable pornography laid out right in front of Erik and then he's rolling over. He positively slinks back up the bed, up Erik’s body, touching every expanse of skin he can get his hands on as if he's hungry for it, for the contact.

 _I am, it's true, so hungryhungrywantwant_ and then he pauses, lips parted hovering just over the tip of Erik's cock, breath ghosting over the head. Erik grits his teeth, jaw clenching tight enough the muscles crack and then Charles’s moving down, tongue tentatively poking out, almost shy, coy, just brushing over the tip of his head. Erik wants to jerk back, up, smack his head into the wall, but he can't bring himself to look away, can't stop staring at how slick his tongue looks, soft and moist dipping over his slit where it's shiny with precome. His lips twist into that smile that's becoming oh-so familiar and drops a kiss on the spot he's just licked.

“You eat a lot of pineapple, don't you,” he says and there's something almost gleeful in the breathless quality of his voice. Erik feels his eyebrows draw in.

“Hngh,” he grunts articulately. Charles laughs.

“Your semen, it's sweet,” he answers his wordless grunt, and then he leans over and _nuzzles_ him, soft skin of his cheek torturous against his dick. “Fruits, and pineapple in particular make semen sweeter,” he tells him brightly and Erik wonders what the hell he's talking about, how he can speak so clearly when he knows for a fact his mind is running through cycles of _needwantneed, gimmie now, please, Iwantitsobad_. Charles drags a hand away from where it's buried in the divots of Erik's hips and taps the side of his head.

“Telepaths are very good at disconnect,” he says and then he's diving back down, lips stretching bright and swollen around him. Erik lets out a sharp shout and his hips buck of their own accord, shoving himself deeper into Charles' mouth and it just makes him _moan_. The vibrations of it hum sweetly all up and down his limbs and Erik shivers. Charles' throat opens wide around him, and he's pressed up against the back of it and then, then--

Then he's pressing inside, deep inside, the length of him sliding all the way down his throat until he bottoms out in him. Erik nearly clamps his thighs around his head at the positively erotic sensation, but Charles presses his delicate fingers firmly around his limbs. He presses him until he's spread wide, split around his bobbing head and he's surprisingly strong. Erik can feels his muscles bunching and shifting beneath the weight of his hands. The heat of his mouth is good, so good, but too much, too sweet and he hears himself start to beg.

“Wait,' he moans, long and drawn out. “Wait, Charles, wait you have to-- I want to-- I need to be in you,” and Charles groans around his cock _yes, yes, please yes_ and then he's pulling off with an obscene _pop_ , sucking almost painfully the whole way up.

“Aah, _you bastard,_ ” Erik hisses and Charles is sprawling himself beside him, legs spread obscenely wide. He's got a hand fisted over his cock and he's tossing his head back and forth, back and forth.

 _Erik hurry,_ please _I can't wait anymore, I need you in me, need to feel you,_ and Erik doesn't have to be told twice. He rolls himself over on top of him, laying between his split legs, chest rising up, hands braced on either side of his head. Charles looks wrecked beneath him and Erik slaps his hand away from his cock, shifting his weight to the side to accommodate himself.

“Stop that,” he admonishes and Charles looks startled, bites down hard on his lower lip.

“Aah, so you don't know everything I'm thinking,” Erik pants and wiggles under him, trying to brush his cock along his stomach but Erik just pushes himself up further.

“It's not- It gets harder, harder the more, for god sakes Eric _please_ ,” and he wraps his hands around Erik's ass, tugging, plaintive and insistent and Erik gives in, slides his hand between the cheeks of his ass and--

oh, _oh_ apparently the club has a policy on such things because Charles is already slick and loose, worked open. The ring of muscle is swollen and hot against the tip of his finger and Erik can't help but push a the digit in, anyways, electrified by images of Charles sitting alone, working his own fingers into himself, slick with a little too much lube. Charles sucks him in like he's welcoming him, like he _belongs_ there.

 _Your condom,_ he reminds him brightly, voice like a flashing strobe light in his mind. Erik hisses and Charles laughs at him. _Come on, I did mine for you,_ he purrs and pumps his hips up in the air, pulling Erik’s estranged finger with him.

“Fuck it,” he growls, “I don’t even care anymore,” and Charles’ laugh is cut off sharply when he abruptly grabs Charles’ hips, angling him up and--

Ooh, he’s so slick when he slides into him, so hot and wet and clinging to his cock, the tight ring of muscle pulling him deeper. Charles shifts under him and then he’s sinking, sinking until he bottoms out in him, filling him up fit to bursting. Charles cries out, wraps his legs around his back, arms slung once more around Erik’s neck as he rocks into him.

 _Yesss, yesyesyesyesyes,_ his mind projects at him, lust heady and all consuming. Erik can’t even think of forming words, anymore, just snaps his hips again and again, using every shred of his concentration and control not to come before he wants to.

“You’re good, so good for me,” Charles tells him, and it’s almost strange to hear his voice out loud. His eyes are wide and gleeful, gaze locking undeniably with Erik’s, mouth a laughing crescent. He’s gorgeous and Erik is breathless with it, can’t help it when he slips, just a bit, pounds in a little harder and Charle’s eyelids flutter closed, mouth shaping a round ‘o’. Erik also can’t resist snaking a hand between them, bracing one handed, again, grips Charle’s cock. He wants to see him come, wants to see that beautiful face contorted in orgasm, hear his sweet voice cry out, tinkling like tangible lust against his ears.

Charles’ eyes slam open wide and he howls long and loud, screws his ass deep onto Erik’s cock and then everything goes white for Erik as every muscle inside of him clamps down. He shoots deep, deep inside of him, pounding it in through the throes of his orgasm.

He thinks he very nearly passes out on top of Charles after that, barely has the energy to pull out of him, spent, come leaking onto the bedsheets. He thinks he feels Charles heave him off of him, enough that he can nestle against his side, neither of them quite conscious of the mess they’ve left between them.

When he wakes it’s to the sight of Charles looming over him in a suit, looking impossibly fresh eyed and warm.

“I did you the liberty of paying for the room for the night,” he says cheerfully. “You can owe me.”

Erik blinks up at him, a little shell-shocked. He reaches out and runs a hand along the soft fabric of his jacket. Charles quirks a brow at him, catches his hand in his and uses it to pull Erik up, and shoves him towards the bathroom.

“Come on, up up, go take a shower,” he says, fingers hot on his back. Erik quirks a brow at him over his shoulder.

“Trying to tell me something,” he drawls and it comes out a little suave then he'd intended, slurred at the edges with sleep. Charles snorts and smacks him on the ass.

“Quite freely, my friend. You reek.” And Erik shuffles obediently in, laughing louder then he has in quite some time.

“And hurry up,” Charles calls after him. “I want to see this mansion of yours,” and then he sends him a flash of a large, ornate bed, both of them sprawled out on top of it writhing in passion and Erik nearly slips and hits his head on the tile, Charles’ mental laughter chasing itself around in his head.


End file.
